Aftermath
by cybertoothtiger
Summary: After S8, Jack flees to Canada, where he seeks help from the only person he can trust. Or can he? This is an old story, so it's complete. I'm doing some housekeeping and moving a few things over here from LJ. OCs are from my previous stories, "The Home Front" and "Pins and Needles" but you don't have to have read those for this. Spoilers up to the end of S8. Some swearing.
1. Chapter 1

"Stephen, could you get it?"

Kim called out and pushed her hair away from her face with the back of her hand, still clutching the sauce-coated spoon. A haircut would have to wait until she got the suitcases unpacked and the laundry done. Re-entry after a long trip was always a logistical nightmare, and they'd been in New York for two weeks visiting her father. She smiled, marveling at the memory of Jack playing with Teri, taking her to the zoo and generally letting his granddaughter boss him around. Two years ago, Kim had not even known where he was. She hadn't wanted to admit, even to herself, that it wasn't likely she'd ever find him.

And now he was moving back to L.A. She mentally added apartment hunting to her list of things to accomplish before the haircut. She hoped he was okay. Maybe it had been a mistake to encourage him to go back to CTU, but she knew he would never be able to relax if he thought there was something he'd left undone there.

On the floor behind her, Teri had opened the drawer of Tupperware and was happily banging on piles of upside-down containers with a spoon of her own. Kim smiled at her and gave the spaghetti sauce another stir.

She had completely forgotten about the phone when Stephen startled her by putting his hand on her shoulder. "Kim, it's for you."

"Can I call them back? Lunch is just about ready and Teri's still on New York time."

"I think you'll want to take this," Stephen said, and took a breath, his mouth working to form itself around an unfamiliar phrase. "It's the President."

A chill travelled down Kim's spine and settled in her stomach like a block of ice. "Oh, God."

Wordlessly, she handed the spoon to Stephen and walked into the living room. Her hand was slippery on the phone as she held it to her ear. "This is Kim."

"Hold for the President."

"Kimberly?"

The voice was familiar from the news. Shit. The news. She hadn't had time to watch. Anything could have happened. "Yes, Madame President." She forced the words out of a mouth suddenly dry as stale crackers.

"Kim, I don't have much time, but I wanted to talk to you myself."

"Has something happened to my father?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"Oh my God." The room went blurry and Kim felt blindly for the sofa. "It's my fault. I told him to go back. I –"

The President interrupted. "No, Kim, it's my fault. If I had listened to him, none of this would have happened." She paused, her breathing uneven. "Kim, listen to me. This is important. You may be in danger."

"In danger?" Kim's eyes instinctively went to the kitchen doorway.

"Yes. Your father is a fugitive. The people who are looking for him may come after you to get to him." The President spoke quickly. "Chloe O'Brien is arranging protection for you."

"You mean – my father's not dead?" A glimmer of hope.

"No. But he may already be out of the country." The President paused again. "Kim, he won't be able to contact you, but he left something for you. A recording. I'm going to send it to you"

Kim tried to process this information as she felt the hope slip away. "I see."

"Kim, I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am. Your father is a courageous man."

Kim knew that already. How many times during her life had she wished for a father who was a little less brave and a little more around? But this time, it was on her. She was the one who had pushed him to get involved again, and now it sounded as if she would never see him again. And now she had other things – other people – to think about.

"Thank you."

She hung up the phone and sat, staring into space, for a long moment. Then she breathed. She could do this. She knew, all too well, how to do this.

xxxxxxx

President Taylor hung up the phone and walked to the closed door of her office at the United Nations. Tim was waiting for her in the hallway.

"Are you ready, Madam President?"

"No. But it's time."

"The Attorney General is on his way up."

"Thank you, Tim."

xxxxxxxx

Inspector Marc Tremblay shifted in his chair at the back of the conference room. At the front of the room, the speaker was reading the text from his Powerpoint slides, a presentation style that Marc particularly hated. So he reached for his phone with more than the usual enthusiasm when it phone buzzed softly against his hip. His relief at the distraction turned to curiosity when his display identified the call as originating from a pay phone. Only informants and people in trouble used pay phones any more. He stood and squeezed past the other people in the row of chairs on his way to the door, fending off the questioning look from his partner, Stéphane, by holding up his phone.

The phone was still buzzing when he reached the hallway.

"Oui, 'allo?"

"Marc?"

"Yes."

"Marc, it's Jack Brownlee."

Marc's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't heard from Jack for years, and frankly hadn't expected to. The two men had crossed paths twice, and the last time had ended with Jack pulling him out of a frozen river. He'd saved Marc's life. Whatever reason Jack had for using his alias, Marc was willing to play along.

"Brownlee. It's been a long time."

"Yeah." Jack's breathing was laboured. "Marc, I need your help."

"I'll do whatever I can, Jack. I owe you that much."

"I don't know how easy this will be for you from where you are." Jack stopped to cough. "I'm in Halifax."

Marc started walking to the stairs leading out of the conference centre to the parking lot. "As it happens, so am I. Where are you?"

"Salter Street, near the docks."

"Sit tight. I'll be there in five."

"Bring a medical kit."

Marc paused long enough to leave a note for Stéphane with the woman at the registration desk, saying he would be back after lunch, before heading to his rented car. His bag was still in the trunk, as his flight from Ottawa had been delayed and he hadn't had time to check in to the hotel. He always travelled with a good medical kit, and he dug it out, placing it on the passenger seat.

xxxxxxxx

Jack hung up the phone clumsily, his fingers stiff. He hoped it was just the cold – the breeze blowing off the water was unseasonably chilly – but he hadn't taken his medication for over 48 hours. There was no way he was getting more, so he forced himself not to worry about it and instead rubbed his hands together to get circulation going. There were still some traces of blood under his fingernails. He jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his stolen jacket and walked quickly along the pier, away from the few tourists posing for photographs. The last thing he needed was to show up in somebody's holiday pictures.

He passed a skinny busker singing a sea shanty.

 _It's been six years since we sailed away  
And I only made Halifax yesterday.  
God damn them all  
I was told  
We'd sail the seas for American gold.  
We'd fire no guns  
Shed no tears,  
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier  
The last of Barrett's Privateers._

Jack snorted and headed for a dumpster close to the road. He could hide there until Marc arrived.

It looked like he was finally catching a break. First, he'd been able to sneak aboard a small boat heading across the border relatively easily. And now his only trustworthy contact in Canada was coincidentally in the same city. Jack hadn't expected that. Hadn't known exactly what to expect, or how he thought Marc could help. It wasn't like Marc could go through official channels. At this point, all Jack could do was put one foot in front of the other, knowing that each step would take him further away from the people looking for him, and the only three people he ever wanted to see again.

He crouched behind the dumpster to wait for Marc. He could do this. He knew, all too well, how to do this.


	2. Chapter 2

Kim stared straight ahead for a long time until the living room finally came back into focus.

Her eyes flicked from the small table and chairs near the window that had the scattered remains of a teddy-bear tea party, to Stephen's favourite chair in front of the TV, to the shelves near the door covered with photographs and small sculptures collected by her mother back in her student days. Artifacts from a time when her mother thought her life would move from one significant art exhibition to the next, before it shrank to changing diapers and waiting for a husband who was never home. Waiting for a husband who wasn't there when it mattered most.

And now he would not be here, either. Kim could have, maybe even should have been angry, but she had got over that long ago. Loving Jack Bauer was a high-stakes game. She had accepted that, and everything that went with it. Wallowing in self-pity would only get you killed.

Kim stood up. The team Chloe would send would be here soon. She knew what would be on the recording the President was sending: an apology, a wish that things could be different, a message to Teri and his promise that he would always love her. She would watch it and grieve yet again for the loss of her father. But that could wait. Right now, she had to start packing. She didn't have much time.

xxxxxx

Marc slowed as he reached the road near the harbour, scanning likely hiding places. Jack hadn't sounded like he was in a situation where he could be too obvious. Finally, he spotted a dumpster and pulled up next to it. Within seconds, the backseat passenger door opened and Jack got in.

" _Tabernac_ , Jack. What the hell happened to you?"

Dark stains on Jack's shirt near his shoulder and on his side were damp, and he had large scabs on his forehead and mouth from recent injuries.

Jack twisted around, checking to make sure he hadn't been seen before lying down on the seat.

"Just drive to someplace less exposed. I'll explain on the way."

Marc did as he was told. He picked up the medical kit from the front seat and handed it back to Jack.

"I'm listening," he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I was involved in stopping a terrorist attack on Manhattan yesterday." His voice came in short grunts as he took out bandages and disinfectant from the kit. "They wanted to stop the peace treaty. Turned out the Russians were involved."

"I heard the peace treaty went south."

"Yeah."

"President Taylor's in a shitload of trouble."

"Yeah."

"As are you, I suppose." Marc pulled off into a deserted parking lot behind a warehouse and turned to face Jack. "What do you need?"

Jack had opened his shirt and was trying to adjust the dressing on the wound in his chest. He looked up and Marc saw the pleading in his eyes. "I need some I.D. and a way out of the country. If I can get to Europe, I'll be okay."

Marc thought about this. It was a big ask. He didn't really know what Jack had done, or who might be looking for him. Every time. Every fucking time he saw this guy, he had to put his career on the line.

"Don't want much, do you?"

"Fine." Jack looked down, seemingly turning his attention to the task at hand. "Just let me get patched up and I'll be on my way."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Jack. Let me help you with that."

Marc jerked open the door and came around to the back seat. He looked at the bandage holding Jack's side together and then took in the extent of Jack's other injuries with growing shock. When this guy got involved, he didn't mess around. Whatever he'd done, Marc knew Jack well enough to know that he'd done it for good reason, and didn't deserve to be running for his life. And he realized that in Jack's condition, it could be a short run. Jack would never make it to the next town, let alone Europe, if he tried to go like this.

Thinking quickly, Marc developed a plan. A stupid, harebrained, just dumb-enough-it-might-work plan. Or get them both arrested. So much for taking it easy for a few days at a conference.

"I'm taking you to hospital."

"You can't do that. The doctors would have to report a gunshot wound. I'd be exposed."

"Not if you're already under arrest."

Jack lunged for the door. "You sonofabitch."

Marc grasped his wrist. "Relax. If I take you to the hospital in cuffs, they don't have to tell the police, because the police will already be there. Nobody has to know."

He could see Jack weighing his options. "You have to trust me," Marc said.

xxxxxxx

President Taylor waited for the Attorney General to finish speaking. He looked as exhausted as she felt, and she was sorry for the work she had put him to since her statement to the media yesterday.

"David," she said gently. "I think you will have to have me arrested."

He looked up from his notes, shocked. "Arrested? Madam President, there's a fairly long process before it comes to that." He slid a piece of paper across the desk towards her. "I've started putting together a list of possible names for the Special Prosecutor. Once he, or she, is in place, we can start impeachment proceedings."

She ignored the paper. He shouldn't be showing her that, and she'd already broken enough rules. "No. A long impeachment process will tear this country apart. I'm guilty, David. I don't need a trial."

"There will be an investigation regardless, Ma'am."

Alison sighed. She was so tired. So very, very tired. "Nonetheless. I will not put the country through impeachment hearings. Call the Vice President. I'm going to resign."

"Resign, Madam President? Are you sure?"

"Yes, David. I'm sure." And to her surprise, she was. This was the only realistic option available to her. She knew it was not enough, that there would be more to pay. But that could wait. Right now, she had to start packing. She didn't have much time.

xxxxxxx

Marc drove up to the Emergency entrance and put police tags on the dashboard before hauling Jack out of the back seat. Jack's hands were cuffed behind him and Marc held tight to one arm, propelling Jack ahead of him like a criminal as they approached the triage nurse. Marc flashed his badge.

"I've got a situation here."

The nurse glanced up from her computer, clearly disgruntled at having someone jump the queue. Then she looked at Jack's shirt with its spreading stains and saw Marc's face, which he had arranged into his best "always- gets-his-man" expression. Tall, dark, and reasonably handsome in the right light, Marc found it more challenging to turn off his cop look when he went undercover than to convey his official authority when he needed it. The nurse picked up the phone.

"Emily, I need you at the desk right away."

Another nurse arrived, her long brown ponytail swinging back and forth as she jogged up to the desk.

"What've we got?"

"Gunshot wound," Marc replied. "I need to stay with him. And I need you to be discrete."

"Follow me, Officer." She grabbed a clipboard and led the way.

Jack grunted as Marc yanked on his arm, but Marc didn't ease up. The performance had to be convincing. The nurse led them to a bed and pulled the curtain around them.

"Okay, let me get some information. Name?"

Jack looked at Marc, who had his badge out again. Marc looked at the nurse's name tag.

"Emily, my name is Inspector Marc Tremblay with the RCMP Special Task Force. He's John Doe, understand?"

She shrugged. "Okay, whatever."

While Emily took Jack's medical history, Marc stepped back into the hallway. He needed to get Jack some documents, a plane ticket, and some money. He'd need some help. Reluctantly, he called Stéphane.

It took a while for his partner to pick up. He must have still been in the session. "Learning anything?"

Stéphane's eye roll was almost audible. "Two hours on the new protocol for using Tasers. If I ever catch up with those dumb fucks in Vancouver, I'm gonna ask for that time back, fuck."

Marc laughed despite himself, and then grew serious. "Well, I've got good news and bad news for you. The good news is I'm taking you out of the conference."

"Hallelujah. Okay, I'll bite. What's the bad news?"

"I'll tell you when you get here. I'm at the Infirmary on Summer Street."

"What? You were here just an hour ago. Not even you could injure yourself that quickly."

Marc heard the worry under the teasing in Stéphane's voice. "It's not me," he reassured. "But there's someone here I need some help with. And Stéphane?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring your weapon, and keep this to yourself, okay?"

xxxxxxx

"Ms. O'Brien, you have a visitor." The security guard's voice echoed through the speaker phone.

"Who is it?"

"Your husband, Ma'am."

Chloe sighed impatiently at the interruption. "I'll be right down."

Morris was standing by the security desk holding a small cooler bag. "Hullo, Luv."

"Hi Morris. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of busy today. What do you want?"

His forehead crinkled in concern. "I wanted to check to see if you were okay."

"Okay? No, Morris, I'm not okay. My best friend went crazy and is now wanted for… well, we're still adding up how many people he killed yesterday. Renee Walker is dead, and I still have to put the finishing touches on the new identities for Kim and her family. I've got a lot of work to do."

"I know, Luv. Which is why I brought you my famous Mediterranean linguine. I figured you wouldn't take time to eat, and you need to keep your strength up." He smiled, pleased with himself, as he held out the cooler bag. "Sorry it's a bit late."

"Thanks Morris. That was really sweet. I'm sorry I don't have time to be all lovey-dovey right now. I'll see you tonight, okay?" Chloe grabbed the bag and turned to go back up to her office.

"Righty-oh. See you then." Unfazed, Morris watched his wife's retreating back disappear before leaving.

xxxxxxxx

Jack looked up in time to see Stéphane's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

Stéphane gave a low whistle. "Ho-lee fuck." He pulled the curtain closed behind him as he stepped close to the bed where Jack was sitting.

Jack nodded at him. "Hello, Inspector LeBlanc." Stéphane hadn't changed much in the intervening years. He was still short for a police officer, but if anything, he was stockier than before. He must have been working out.

Stéphane looked from Jack to Marc. "Huh. Well, you were right. Good news, bad news. What can I do?"

"We only have a few minutes before the doctor gets here. Mr. _Brownlee_ , here, needs me to go get some things for him. I need you to guard him while I'm gone. As far as the hospital knows, he's John Doe. No one else can know he's here. _A tu compris_ , Stéphane?"

Jack saw the flash of understanding on Stéphane's face when Marc used his alias and silently thanked God that these guys were smart and good at their jobs. It had been a good idea to use Brownlee. Not only did the RCMP officers recognize it, anyone who had known about it back at CTU was long dead. Or in jail, he amended, remembering one man whom he'd rather forget.

"Yeah, okay. Hurry back."

Marc clapped Stéphane on the shoulder and slipped through the curtain.

Stéphane stared at Jack in silence. Jack chose not to look at him. Their history was rocky, and Jack wasn't sure if saving the life of one partner made up for causing the death of another in the other man's mind. The awkward moment was broken by the return of the nurse, this time accompanied by a doctor with short, sandy hair and a neatly-trimmed beard.

"Hi, Mr. Doe, I'm Dr. McTavish. I understand you've had a bit of an accident. Didn't anyone tell you not to play with guns?"

Emily cut off Jack's shirt and frowned, moving over to make room for the doctor, who bent in for a closer look, carefully peeking beneath the dressings.

"Guns _and_ knives. And a Taser, I see." He shot a look at Stéphane, who shrugged. He turned back to Jack. "You've been busy, Mr. Doe."

He pulled out a small flashlight and checked Jack's eyes. "Where'd you send the other guys?" he asked Stéphane.

"You know I can't discuss that."

"Okay." He started listing the injuries in more detail for Emily to record on the chart. It took a while.

"We'll start by repairing the sutures on the shoulder wound. But let's take a good look at that stab wound in the abdomen. It's starting to get infected." He looked up to Jack's face. "How old is the stab wound?"

Jack calculated. "About 36 hours."

"I don't suppose it was a clean knife?"

Jack shook his head, the pain of the memory of Renee's face sharper than the injury. The knife had probably had traces of bread, cheese, sausage, and, of course, Vlad's eyeball fluid and blood. "No."

"Of course not." Dr. McTavish turned to Stéphane again. "I'm going to need those cuffs off. Is that safe?"

Stéphane nodded and pulled out the key with one hand, using the other to slip inside his jacket and undo the snap on the holster holding his gun in place. "You try anything, and this doctor's job just got a whole lot harder, understand, asshole?"

Jack grunted. Perhaps it had been just as well there hadn't been time to bring Stéphane too far into the loop. He was more believable this way. Jack knew it was only Stéphane's loyalty to Marc that would keep him in line. He hoped that loyalty was unshakable.

xxxxxxx

Marc opened the heavy wooden door and stepped into the darkness of the old brick pub, which was still full of university students taking a long lunch. The place hadn't changed much since Marc had been stationed in Halifax back when he was a rookie constable, the stink of the training Depot still on his uniform. The contacts he'd made in this bar straddled the border between the criminal and law enforcement communities, and had proven useful more than once on Marc's climb up the ranks. There was safety in knowing the man he was here to meet had as much to lose as Marc did if word got out he was helping a cop.

Before his eyes could adjust to the dimness, a bouncer stepped in front of Marc, blocking his way.

"I'm here to see Hamish."

The bouncer stepped aside and indicated a booth in the far corner. A blonde waitress wearing a corset and puffy dirndl skirt arrived to take his order as soon as he sat down. Marc ordered a Keith's and looked around while he waited. The place was suffering from an identity crisis. The serving staff's outfits said German beer hall, but the music and heavy wooden timbers said British pub. The overall unfriendliness said front for some other business.

The beer and Hamish arrived at the same time, and Hamish ordered a Guinness before sliding into the booth, across from Marc. He had some trouble fitting into the space. He was a large, burly man, with Celtic tattoos covering his arms and neck and probably the rest of his torso under his black T-shirt.

"Marc. What the hell? Last I heard you were in Afghanistan, teaching the Paki cops how to bust heads. Like they need the lesson."

"Pakistan is a different country, Hamish," Marc replied mildly, taking a swallow of his beer.

"Whatever. They're all towel-heads. Looks like they been practicing on you. Caught one in the noggin, did ya?" Hamish indicated the jagged scar visible through Marc's close-cropped dark hair. "Those I.E.D.s are a bitch, I hear."

Marc chose to ignore this observation. "Hamish, I need a passport. Anything but American. White male, forty-nine years old or thereabouts, five-ten, hundred and fifty pounds. Red hair, blue eyes. First name should be John."

"Runty little fella. No wonder he needs your protection."

Marc had to admit that it was hard to believe that Jack fit so much into such a small package. But in this situation, his small size was an advantage: Jack didn't look like a threat.

"Can you get it today?"

Hamish sat back as far as the bench and table would allow him. "Today's more than half over, buddy."

"I know."

"Okay, but it will cost extra. I'll have to pay my guy overtime."

Marc managed not to smile at the pretense that Hamish's guy was unionized. "Just get me the passport. I'll add the photo."

"I'll have it for you by 9:00."

Marc drained his glass and slid out of the booth. He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and dropped it on the table. "I'll pay you double if you get it by 5:00."

"Five o'clock it is." Hamish didn't get up to see Marc out.

Marc stepped back into the sunlight and bypassed a group of tourists taking photos of the tower in front of the Citadel on his way back to his car. He had to pick up some hair dye and new clothes for Jack before heading back to the hospital. His PDA told him there was a Shopper's Drug Mart and a Roots store not far away. That would do. He drove the few blocks and parked. On his way out of the clothing store, he spotted an eyeglasses store down the block. Perfect.

By the time he returned to the hospital, he had the makings of a decent disguise in the trunk.

 **To be continued**


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean, we could be in danger? Why would we be in danger?" Stephen was having a hard time wrapping his head around what Kim was telling him. She'd been quiet since the phone call from the President. Obviously it was bad news, but she hadn't wanted to talk about it until Teri was safely down for her nap. While Teri was eating lunch, Kim had made a phone call to Chloe.

"My dad did some things today that got a little out of hand," Kim explained. "The Russian government will be looking for revenge, and they may try to use us to get to him."

"Out of hand? Define 'out of hand' Kim. What did he do?"

Stephen had only known Jack a short time, and for most of that Jack had been recovering from the toxin. On this visit, Jack had spent most of his time taking Teri to the zoo and the park. He seemed harmless enough. But Stephen was also aware that his father-in-law was capable of some serious violence, judging by the media coverage leading up to the Congressional hearings. Jack had never testified, but Kim had told him a few things about her past with him that made him cautious. 'Out of hand' could mean a lot of things.

Kim continued putting clothes into the suitcase she'd added to the pile that were still packed from their trip. "He killed some people, okay?" She moved around him to get to the dresser.

"Killed some people? Who? Terrorists?"

"Yes. No. I don't have all the details, Stephen." She stopped and touched his arm. "I only know that we have to go away for a little while. Chloe said she's sending a team. They should be here within the hour."

"So we're going to be in Witness Protection? Is that what you mean?" He tried to process.

"Yes." Kim resumed packing.

"What? Now? Today?" This was all happening too fast. "What about the hospital? What about my job? I can't just not turn up."

"We can tell them you got a posting with Doctors Without Borders and had to leave right away."

"No. No way. Uh-uh." Stephen shook his head adamantly and put his hand out to stop Kim from placing a sweater in the bag. "We are not going to raise our daughter in a web of lies, Kim."

She put her other hand on his, rubbing her fingers across the top of his wrist. "Stephen, don't you get it?" she said, gently. "This is the only way we get to raise her at all."

xxxxxx

As the doctor systematically made his way through Jack's injuries, Jack could feel him getting increasing tense. At one point, he leaned in and murmured to Jack in a low voice.

"You have significant bruising, and at least three different Taser burns. The one over your stab wound could cause complications. Do you want me to report this?"

Three? Jack tried to remember. Oh, right. Those cops in Queens, and the guard at CTU. Those seemed like so long ago, Jack was surprised that they still showed on his body. The one from Bazhaev's men he wouldn't soon forget.

Shaking his head, Jack huffed a laugh and glanced at Stéphane, who looked a bit worried. There must be some issue with the Horsemen and Tasers. God, Canada was amusingly innocent sometimes.

"It wasn't them. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Just fix him up, Doc. Leave the reporting to us," Stéphane growled.

Dr. McTavish frowned and went back to work, leaving Jack to his thoughts. The marks on his body were a map of the past 48 hours, but he didn't need his scars to remember the parts that were important.

 _Chloe._ He'd meant what he'd told her. He had never in a million years imagined that she would be the one to have his back. Chase had been right to talk him out of firing her. What Jack hadn't told her was that she had saved his life, even back then. Turning him in for his heroin addiction must have taken guts, but if she hadn't – he liked to think that he would have gotten clean, anyway, but treatment had told him differently.

 _Novakovitch._ That was a blur. He had been out of his mind, really. And it had been a mistake. Killing all of those men, mowing them down, that was what was going to put Kim in danger. He hoped to God Chloe had got to Kim in time, and that Kim would understand. He hated what he had done to Kim's life, but regrets had never changed anything yet.

 _Renee._ Not yet. He wasn't ready to think about her yet. Not with people around, watching him. Instead, Jack forced himself to focus on the physical pain of the doctor re-suturing the hole in his stomach.

Marc made it back to the hospital just as Dr. McTavish was finishing up. Stéphane was standing in the corner, watching carefully, his hand still on the butt of his gun.

"Okay. That ought to do," Doctor McTavish said, satisfied. "I'd like to keep him in overnight for observation?" It was a question, directed at Marc.

Marc shook his head. "That won't be possible."

"Yeah, I kind of thought that. Well, I've given him a Hep shot and a tetanus booster. I'll call down to the pharmacy and arrange for some penicillin." He stood. "Make sure you take it all, Mr. Doe. And take care of yourself. No more guns."

"I will. Thank you, Doctor." Jack watched the doctor leave and then turned to Marc expectantly, eyeing the parcel under his arm.

Marc tossed it on the bed. "New clothes. And you're going to be a redhead for a while."

"Thanks." Jack rummaged through the bag and put on a T-shirt. Marc replaced the handcuffs and told Stéphane to carry the bag. Stéphane went to the pharmacy while Marc walked Jack back to the nurse's station to check John Doe out of the hospital. Once they were safely out of the Emergency department, Marc removed the cuffs. Stéphane showed up and handed Jack the bag and his medicine.

"Walk around the building and go in the east entrance. Meet me back there in ten minutes," instructed Marc.

"Okay."

xxxxxx

Marc and Stéphane walked to Marc's rental car in the parking lot.

Marc turned to Stéphane. "Thank you. I know that couldn't have been easy for you."

Stéphane shrugged. "The guy's an asshat. But he saved your life. What was I gonna do?" He reached for the passenger door.

"Stéphane, you don't have to go any further with this. I'm sorry I had to get you involved at all. You've done enough."

Stéphane met his gaze across the top of the car and opened the door. "I'm not leaving you alone with him, fuck. Did you see what he's been through, this guy? No fucking way you could take him."

Marc pretended to be indignant as he got in and started the engine. "Whaddya mean, I couldn't take him? I could take him."

"Not a chance," Stéphane scoffed. "Besides, I need a ride back to the hotel. We only rented one car, remember? I had to take a cab over here. It's gotta be, what, fifteen blocks, at least. I may as well stick around."

xxxxxx

Kim crammed the last stuffed animal into the carry-on bag. There were so many things they would have to leave behind, but the polar bear wasn't one of them.

"Ready, Ms. Bauer?" The agent stood on the front step.

Kim nodded silently and walked to the door, savouring the sound of her name one last time. Ironic that she had kept it as a last connection to her father when she got married, and always had a separate listing so he'd be able to find her. Now it was that very connection that meant she would have to give it up.

Stephen was already strapping Teri into the car seat. "How come we're taking this car, Daddy? Where did you get it? Do we get to keep it?"

"Yes, Honeybunch. Mommy got it for us. We get to keep it. Isn't that nice? Let's take it for a long drive to see if it works." He kissed her on the forehead and closed the car door.

He turned to face Kim.

"I'm already lying to her. Not even five minutes, and I'm lying to her."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"How am I going to do this, Kim?" His eyes were broken, threatening to spill.

"Stephen, you have to. You have no choice."

"Your father had a choice," he said, and stalked off to the driver's side.

Kim put the bag she was carrying in the trunk and took one last look at the house. She hadn't asked what would happen to it. It was just a thing. Things were worth losing if you got to keep people.

She turned away and faced the road ahead. She wondered how long this new identity would last.

xxxxxxx

Jack exited the hospital wearing a new pair of khakis, simple striped cotton shirt over his t-shirt and a warm brown leather jacket. The blue frames of his new architect glasses complemented his freshly-red hair. He got in the car and Marc started driving.

"Okay. Your passport will be ready at five. You must be hungry. Should we go to Timmy's for old time's sake?" Marc asked, naming a popular donut chain where they had first made contact.

Stéphane spoke up. " _Est-tu fou, toi? C'est plein des cops_ , fuck."

"Shit, you're right. Okay. Change of plan. Let's go get your passport photo taken and find something near there, then you can head to a motel while I pick up your I.D." He tossed a wallet over the back seat. "There's a couple thousand dollars in there, half American, and a few Euros to get you started."

"Okay," Jack agreed. "Listen, Marc, thank you for everything. I'm sorry I had to get you involved in this."

"Yeah, well. You'd do the same for me, right?" Marc's phone buzzed and he checked the display.

"Dammit, it's the Marie-Claire. I'd better take it." Obeying local traffic laws, he put the phone on speaker.

"Yes, Boss."

"Marc. Enjoying the conference?" A woman's sarcastic voice filled the car.

"You bet. Fascinating stuff."

"That's funny, because I just spoke to Dan, and he said you left early."

Marc glanced in the rearview mirror at Jack. "Yeah. I ran into an old girlfriend. I've been banging her all afternoon. The room service at this hotel is sweet, let me tell you."

"You're a real pig, Tremblay."

"So I'm told."

In the back seat, Jack looked out the window, and Marc felt a twinge of shame, but he shrugged it off.

"What have you been up to, really?"

" _Qu'est-ce que tu pense,_ Marie-Claire ? I'm going to sit through eight hours of Powerpoint?" He flicked the left turning signal and waited for a break in traffic. "I dropped a few lines on the Andrew's thing and got a nibble from an old contact. I went to check it out."

"Anything pan out?"

"Nah, nothing we didn't already know. Don't worry, I'll be back in time for the meet and greet with the Commissioner. There's a new bottle of Crown Royal ready and waiting in my room," he lied.

"Make sure Steph doesn't crack the seal before the Commissioner gets there."

"Now, Marie-Claire , was that a nice thing to say? The man's practically tea-total." Marc grinned as Stéphane gave him the finger.

"Yeah, right. Let me know how it goes."

"Will do." Marc hung up and pulled over on a residential street and addressed Jack without turning around.

"Okay. There's a photo store right beside the theatre on the next corner. We'll be at the donair place two doors down. After you give me the photo, head over to the Super 8 in Dartmouth, across the harbour. They'll take cash. I'll meet you there at five-thirty."

"Okay." Jack got out and started walking.

Marc circled the block and parked in front of the donair shop. He and Stéphane got their sandwiches at the counter and sat in the back corner at a table with a good view of the door. The lunch rush over, the place was almost empty.

"Oh, man. This is some good shit, fuck." Stéphane tucked a wayward piece of spiced meat into his mouth.

"You've got quite the potty mouth on you, you know that, Steph?" Marc licked the garlic sauce from his index finger before readjusting his grip on his own pita, which was overflowing with roasted meat, tomatoes and lettuce.

Stéphane shrugged. "Yeah, well. It's the company I keep. I stand by my comment. This is fuckin' eh. "

The front door opened and Marc nodded almost imperceptibly at Stéphane. Jack sat at the counter with his back to them. Marc waited until Jack was almost finished eating, then went and stood beside him. He put his wallet on the counter near Jack's napkin and ordered two coffees to go from the guy behind the counter. As soon as the waiter's back was turned, Jack reached for his napkin and palmed the photo into the fold of Marc's wallet.

Marc paid for the coffee and handed a cup to Stéphane. "Let's go. I've got to hit a liquor store before we head back to the hotel or I'll be in the doghouse with Marie-Claire ."

xxxxx

Jack slipped the key card into the lock and opened the door to his hotel room. He had a view of the harbour a few blocks away, not that it mattered. He closed the blinds and flicked on the bedside lamp before dumping his bag near the door. He'd used some of Marc's more than generous supply of cash to buy minimal luggage, big enough to hold a change of clothes, and small enough that he wouldn't have to check it. He'd settled on freelance travel writer as his cover for now. It went with his glasses.

He checked the clock. Half an hour before Marc was due. He grabbed some medical tape and plastic bags from his suitcase and headed to the shower. After carefully taping plastic over his new sutures, he stepped under the hot spray.

The tears came unbidden. He didn't think, didn't feel, he just let them flow, rolling down his face and mingling with the water before dripping off the two-day growth on his chin. They swirled and drained.

He'd just finished getting dressed when there was a knock at the door. Jack checked the peep hole carefully, feeling naked without a weapon. Marc was alone.

"That's gotta feel better, eh?" Marc nodded at the bathroom, which was still steamed up from Jack's shower.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Here's your passport, Mr. John Cameron. Lookit that – you're Canadian." Marc dug into his soft-sided briefcase and pulled out an envelope.

"And here's your boarding pass for tomorrow. You didn't tell me where you wanted to go, but I have a contact in Bosnia you can trust, so I'm sending you to Sarajevo. It's via London on an open ticket, so you can stop there if you want to. There's also an international driver's license."

He handed Jack a separate piece of paper. "I know I don't have to tell you to memorize the contact info and burn it, right?"

"Marc, thank you. This is more than I expected. I owe you one. More than one." Jack appreciated the contact, especially. He wasn't sure who out of his own he could trust. The government had tracked him all across Europe and India to Africa a few years ago. Someone must have talked.

"Don't mention it." His joking tone didn't hide the fact that he meant what he was saying. "It's worth it to get you off the continent and out of my hair."

Snapping his fingers, he exclaimed, "I almost forgot." He reached into the briefcase one more time and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"I figured you might need this." He extended it to Jack. "You can drink with the meds they gave you, I checked. Just don't get so wasted you miss your flight, alright?"

Jack took the bottle, suddenly wishing he had more time here. "Have one with me?"

Marc checked the clock. "Nah, buddy. I'm sorry, but I've got to get back. You heard Marie-Claire. If I screw up this thing with the Commissioner tonight, she'll have my balls on a platter."

His phone pinged to announce an e-mail, and he looked at the screen, then up at Jack.

"It's your APB." Jack could see the muscles in Marc's jaw move as he looked back at the screen. "It's a pretty big file."

Jack tensed, measuring the distance to the gun inside Marc's jacket, calculating his escape route. If Marc read the list of charges, he would have no choice but to try to take Jack in. It was one thing for Marc to help him when he had only a vague idea of what Jack was running from, but once he was fully aware of what Jack had done, he would realize what he was risking. And his sense of duty would kick in. He was a good cop, and Jack looked pretty bad on paper right now. Not only on paper.

Jack didn't want to hurt him, but if he could make it convincing, it might actually help Marc's case.

A nanosecond before Jack could spring, Marc moved his thumb and his phone went dead. "Fucking piece of crap phone. Batteries are always dying on me." He raised his eyes to Jack's.

"I think I'll take that drink after all, Jack."

Jack breathed, hiding his relief by ducking into the bathroom for some glasses. He and poured them each a generous finger. "Cheers."

" _Santé._ " Marc downed his in one swallow and sighed. "Damn straight."

Marc went to the bathroom and rinsed the glass, wiping it down with a towel, which he used to put the glass back beside the sink. He stepped back into the room, holding out his hand to Jack.

"Well, Mr. Cameron, it's been good to never know you."

"You, too, Inspector Tremblay." Jack held the door for Marc. He'd wipe down his own finger prints before he left.

Jack had one more drink and packed up his few things. If he was lucky, he'd have until Marc made it back to the hotel before he read that e-mail. The thought of running again so soon and without sleep was exhausting, but he couldn't get on that flight tomorrow. Maybe Marc would hold out, maybe he wouldn't. Jack couldn't take the chance. He had to slip down to the docks tonight. He wiped down the room. At the last moment, he reached for the Jack Daniels and tucked it into his bag before he let the door close behind him. He made his way down the hall to the stairs and checked the alley through the small window on the fire exit door. It looked deserted.

Jack stepped outside, turned up his collar against the cold, and started walking. When he reached the corner, he looked back at the hotel, making sure he wasn't followed.

He turned away and faced the road ahead. He wondered how long this new identity would last.


	4. Chapter 4

...Because I couldn't leave Marc hanging like that, an epilogue.

XXXXXX

Marc looked up at the sound of a knock on the edge of his cubicle. Marie-Claire poked her head around the partition.

"I'm going for a smoke break. You coming?"

The way she said it made him nervous. She wanted to talk about something, and he had a good idea what it was.

"Yeah." He patted his pocket to make sure he had his cigarettes and followed her to the elevator. He'd managed to quit for the fourth or fifth time after New Year's, but had fallen off the wagon last week. Stress will do that to you.

Once outside, he held his lighter to Marie-Claire's king-sized menthol before lighting his own Gitane. She took a drag and held her cigarette low by her waist as she leaned against the wall of the building.

"Anything you want to tell me about Bauer?"

Marc inhaled deeply to calm his nerves. "Nothing to tell." He looked her in the eye. He'd done enough undercover work to be able lie to someone's face. Even hers.

"That so." She studied him for a moment before she turned away and looked across the street. "CSIS thinks he came through Halifax about the time you were there."

Marc tapped his ash with his finger. "Huh. Well, how 'bout that."

"You withdrew ten thousand dollars from your line of credit on that trip. That's one expensive bottle of Crown Royal."

His eyes narrowed. "You looked at my personal account?"

She ignored the question. "What was it for, Marc?"

"My personal account is what it says: personal."

She turned to him, waving her smoke emphatically. "He killed those Russians in cold blood. Have you seen the photos? It was a massacre. And that's just one crime scene."

He had seen the photos. He'd looked at the whole file in his hotel room as soon as the Commissioner had left, when he was too shit-faced to do anything about it. He had figured it was better that way. He'd barely made it to the toilet before puking up a good third of a bottle of whiskey. It seemed the hangover for that was just beginning.

Marie-Claire sighed and slumped back against the wall again. "Look, Marc. We go back a long way. I know the only reason I got this job is because you refused a promotion so you could stay in the field. But I also know you have a history with Bauer, and it's only a matter of time before someone else connects the dots."

Marc smoked in silence. She was right, they did go back a long way. His loyalty should be to her. But he was in too deep now, and if this came out, it could touch her as well, because he was her responsibility. These things had a way of snaking out of control. It could go right up the chain to the Commissioner. It would look bad that he had met with them both so close together. He cursed himself for being so stupid, and then he cursed Bauer for involving him.

In an instant he was plunged back into the freezing water, the hole in the ice above him slipping further away as the current caught him, dragging him down. And then the sharp yank of a hand on his hood. Bauer's hand.

"Where'd you go, Marc?"

For a second he thought she could read his mind, and then he realized she meant that afternoon in Halifax.

"I told you. I went to meet a contact."

"Stéph will confirm this?"

Marc shook his head and took a final drag of his smoke before grinding the butt into the pavement. "He didn't come."

"So where the hell was he?"

"You'll have to ask him. He wasn't with me."

Marie-Claire's brown eyes met his. "Okay. Stéphane was not involved."

"Inspector LeBlanc did not accompany me to meet my contact," he said evenly. "Look, Marie-Claire, I've got a pretty big caseload right now. I should get back to work."

She crumpled the end of her cigarette into a planter, half burying it in the dirt. "I'll do what I can to make this go away, Marc, but it would help if I knew the truth."

Marc knew he was about to break something fragile, something that could never be mended. And then he realized it had tumbled out of his hands a week ago, and he had missed his opportunity to catch it.

"I told you the truth." He forced the words out of a mouth suddenly dry as stale crackers.


End file.
